Happily Ever After (17 page)

He didn’t look up, and his continued dismissal
grated on her nerves—almost as much as the derisive brow that shot up at
her declaration. “That’s what they all say.”

“Hmmph!” she declared and closed the curtain so
she wouldn’t have to see him.

That’s what who all said? All his women? His
answer needled her.

Why should she care if he’d had a thousand women?
Of course, she didn’t, she told herself. She scarcely knew him, and more, she
didn’t want to know him any better! The man was entirely insufferable.

She ripped open the curtain to find him shuffling
papers. Maybe he hadn’t felt the same thing she had? How could he continue to
work when she was feeling so ... irritable?

“I really have never snored a day in my life!” she
persisted.

He began to read, ignoring her, and Sophie pouted
inwardly. “I’m sure you don’t,” he said much too agreeably.

He was mocking her, she thought, but she couldn’t
tell.

He peered up from his papers suddenly and smiled
roguishly. “But time will tell, won’t it?”

She didn’t snore, she told herself—she
didn’t!—and if she did, she didn’t care, blast it all!

In fact, she hoped she did, because she hoped it
would keep him awake all night long! She might even snore simply to spite him.

“What are you doing?” she asked, curiosity getting
the best of her.

When he didn’t answer, she abandoned the sheets
for his workbench, making a pretense of dusting off the portrait of Harlan she
had placed on his desk. It was her reminder, and she was very proud of herself
for being so strong.

In fact, she didn’t remember a time in her life
when she’d felt more alive, more stalwart, more content... more pleased with
herself.

Almost lovingly, she dusted the picture with her
sleeve, then blew at it, and set it down.

He seemed to notice it for the first time then,
and he glared at it, then turned to glare at her.

“What is
that
?”

Sophia didn’t understand the question. “You’ve
seen it before,” she told him matter-of-factly. “You know what it is!”

“Yes,” he argued, “I do know what it is, but what
I want to know is ... what is it doing on
my
desk?”

“Perhaps you should have asked that instead,”
Sophia reprimanded him with a nod and smile, and then answered his question, “I
had to put it somewhere.”

She thought perhaps he resented sharing his desk
with her.

His eyes glittered with animosity. “Try the
garbage.”

She tilted him a curious glance.

He was staring at the picture with utter
revulsion, as though it were some atrocity she had heaped on his desk. Judging
by his expression, she thought he didn’t like Harlan—and considered that
maybe it wasn’t entirely her to whom he objected.

Harlan had never done anything to Jack that she
knew of, had never even mentioned him, in fact.

Then again... if Harlan had done something to spur
Jack’s animosity, it wasn’t likely that Harlan would come right out and say so.

In any case, why would Harlan have suggested
Jonathon secure passage on Jack’s ship if the two had no love for each other?

Interesting, she thought, and studied him more
closely.

He dismissed her again and returned to his
reading. She set the portrait down and walked boldly around the desk to look
over his shoulder.

Harlan had rarely discussed his affairs with her,
much less worked in her presence, though Sophie had practically begged him to.
Her mind thirsted for knowledge. She had so many questions, and not nearly
enough answers. It just wasn’t fair that women weren’t encouraged to pursue a
proper education. She envied both Jack and Harlan with all her heart.

“
Mizz
Vanderwahl,”
he protested, sensing her at his back. His tone lacked any
patience at all, and Sophie crossed her eyes at him. Whatever happened to his
simply calling her Sophie?

Mizz Vanderwahl, she mouthed, mimicking him, and
felt strangely pleased with her brattiness. Never as a child had she dared speak
out of turn. Even if she was far too old to indulge in such impishness, it felt
wickedly good to do it privately.

He very nearly caught her.

He turned his papers over and looked up at her,
and she donned a pleasant expression and smiled.

“Can I do something for you?”

Sophie shook her head, smiling sweetly, and he
turned away once more to read. She frowned at his back, pouting really, though
she had no notion as to why. Why should it matter to her if their acquaintance
had gone beyond any form of reparation?

It didn’t, she assured herself.

And yet a feeling, something like a lead weight,
sank in her belly.

“I was just curious,” Sophie told him, and
wondered why she suddenly felt so disheartened. She came a little closer,
trying to see what it was that held his attention.

He sighed, a sound much like those her father had
made when her mother had tried him to the edge of his patience.

“Do you mind?” he asked, and set the papers down
on his desk. In fact, he made a point of turning them over again ... as though
he didn’t trust her, and didn’t want her nosing over his shoulder.

Why
didn’t he trust her?

Sophie wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily. By
Jove, if he didn’t trust her, he could just say so! She wanted to hear it from
his own two lips! And she wanted to know why! They stared at each other, at an
impasse.

Sophie stood her ground.

CHAPTER 15

The woman just didn’t know how close she was to
finding herself in a very precarious position.

Jack was trying, he really was, but she wasn’t making
this easy on him.

He’d let her stay mostly because at the first
rumble of thunder, his conscience had pricked him, and he hadn’t liked the idea
of her lying in her bed getting thoroughly drenched.

But he was beginning to regret it now.

His body was tense and he was beginning to feel a
bit like a starved, caged lion—except that the object of his hunger had
managed to lock herself up with him, and he was almost beyond the point of
restraint.

He stared at her, trying to clear the damnable fog
from his brain. It was difficult enough to focus on his research with her in
the same room, much less with her standing at his back. The scent of her
dizzied him. His mouth grew dry with desire and his heart beat like a cannon
blasting in his chest.

“I am working,” he told her curtly, and tried not
to notice the silhouette of her body beneath her gauzy white gown. His
heartbeat quickened. “I see you managed to salvage at least something from your
wardrobe?”

She smiled and leaned a hip against his desk. She
was too close, way too close.

“A few things actually.”

Jack’s gaze was drawn down to the vee in her gown,
and then down again to where the material tucked neatly between her legs,
giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the shape of her thighs.

Christ.

His mouth watered.

“I’m ... uh ... glad,” he said, and closed his
eyes, shielding them from the sight of her.

What he wouldn’t give just now to sit her on his
desk, hike up her gown, and feast on the nectar of her body. His hands shook as
he shoved his papers aside.

Hell, he couldn’t read anyway, his eyes were
clouded with desire. How long had it been since he’d wanted a woman this badly?

He couldn’t remember.

Reminding himself that she belonged to someone
else—never mind that the man was undeserving—Jack turned to face her,
intending to rise from his chair, to walk away from temptation.

Physical evidence kept him firmly planted in his
seat.

His eyes were drawn to the dark aureoles visible
beneath her fine gown, and he swallowed. He tried to ignore the heat filling
his loins. He shifted in his seat slightly.

“Jack?” she prompted, his name coming tentatively
to her lips.

The sound of it surprised him, pleased him, sent a
shock of a different sort leaping through him.

It was the first time she’d used his given name...
but he wanted more. He’d like to hear it whispered in his ear while his body
undulated atop her.

He looked up at her to find her hugging herself
sweetly, almost like a little girl. “I was wondering ... did you always know
what you wanted to be?”

Her voice was soft and sweet and her mood had
shifted one hundred eighty degrees.

No longer was she the vixen ready to do battle.
She suddenly was looking at him like an expectant child, ready for her bedtime
story.

The image should have cooled his ardor, but only managed
to confuse him.

Here she stood before him, alone in his room, prim
in her nightgown, her eyes full of curiosity ... but for something far more
innocent than what he wanted to show her.

She was an incredible contradiction—bold
enough to share his room without asking permission and pure enough to stand
before him in her nightgown, staring up at him with an expression that looked
suddenly and very dangerously like... admiration.

Was she truly interested?

Or was she trying to soften him up?

In any case, he thought about her question a
moment, because it took that long to register. “I think so,” he answered,
clearing his throat.

Her honey-colored eyes glimmered with
intelligence.

He could see so much in them... passion,
excitement, joy. Despite the state of their personal affairs, she seemed
intoxicated with life in the way he usually was when he was on the brink of
some new discovery.

Was she always so ebullient?

Or was she simply looking forward to seeing her
lover as she’d claimed? That thought soured his mood.

Damned Penn.

Why was it the bastard always ended up with the
things Jack most wanted? At the instant, he was feeling bitter in a way he’d
never let himself give in to—not even on receiving the news that Penn had
been awarded yet another grant.
His grant.
He’d warrant Penn had no idea why he was even out there... beyond the arguments
he had stolen from Jack. He was probably wandering around in a daze, tripping
over the very evidence Jack was hungry to uncover.

Which led him to wonder ... what did Sophia know
about her fiancé’s affairs? If she was spying for him, it had to mean she knew
something
, at least. And if she did...
well, then maybe he could pick her brain ...

“Do you enjoy anthropology, Sophia?”

For an instant, Sophie started at his question.

She didn’t ever remember Harlan once asking her,
though she’d been greedy for the conversation.

“Actually...” She blinked away her surprise and
nodded enthusiastically. “Yes.”

“I suppose you would have to share a passing
interest, at least?” he suggested.

Sophie thought he must be referring to Harlan, and
chafed at the reminder of Harlan’s letter—his ready dismissal of her
curiosity. “I never pretend an interest in anything,” she assured him, and
hesitated, unsure why it seemed suddenly inappropriate to address him so
formally. “... Mr. MacAuley.”

Perhaps it was simply because she was standing
before him dressed only in her nightgown, a tattered one at that. Honestly, she
ought to be more abashed by the fact, but she considered herself a practical
woman, and her manner of dress simply couldn’t be helped at the moment. She was
fortunate, indeed, that she was wearing what she was, and had decided not to
dwell upon her lack of choice. What good would it do her anyhow? She couldn’t
exactly complain when it was her own fault that she was minus a few gowns.

“I wasn’t implying you were pretending at all,” he
countered. “Only that you are no stranger to the field.” He sat back in his
chair and cocked his head at her. “I imagine your fiancé spoke often of his ...
second love.”

Her heart squeezed at his question.

“His second love?” For an instant, the allusion
flew past her entirely. Foremost in her mind was Harlan’s dalliances. And then
she realized what he was implying. “Oh, yes! Well, no, actually,” she confessed.
“Harlan rarely spoke of his activities to me at all.”

She sighed, realizing just how little time they
had actually spent together as adults. “In fact,” she confessed a little sadly,
“I rarely saw him after our engagement.”

His brows lifted and he stared at her,
scrutinizing her much too closely. “Really?”

Sophie looked away, uncomfortable with his regard.
She didn’t want him to know anything.

It wasn’t any of his affair.

“Really,” she replied, and changed the subject at
once. “However,” she told him with a smile, “When we were children, he often
shared his aspirations with me.”

“Did he?”

Was he truly interested or was he merely humoring
her?

It didn’t matter. Sophie was hungry for the
opportunity to expound upon this subject. She pulled herself up on the desk,
eager for his conversation. “In fact, when I was a little girl,” she began
wistfully, “we went on an expedition into the wilderness. It was the most fun I
ever had!”

His brows lifted. “Expedition?”

Sophie laughed, embarrassed though she hadn’t a
reason to be. It was a very long time ago, and she’d been merely a child. “At
our summer home ... my mother used to have these picnics where she would invite
her closest friends. Because none of them had little girls my age, I usually
played alone. But one day the boys asked me to join them on their expedition,
and I was absolutely beside myself with joy at my first discovery! A shark’s
tooth!”